


Young Boy

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anaheim Ducks, Detroit Red Wings, Implied Past Relationships, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sergei doesn't miss Detroit. Not at all.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fedzgurl91](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fedzgurl91).



> Another ancient repost. I felt inspired by Sergei's appearance in the Leafs/Wings alumni game to crosspost some old Sergei fic I never posted here and doesn't embarrass me too much.
> 
> Title from "Young Boy," by Paul McCartney.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

I don't miss Detroit. Not at all.

I'm not thinking about Detroit right now.

I'm over Detroit. I'm better off here in Anaheim anyway, where I'm truly appreciated. The way I always should have been appreciated in Detroit and never was.

\- - -

No matter how many times I say those words, either to myself or out loud, I never find myself believing them.

Petr makes some of it okay. Little by little, Petr's touch erases the memory of _his_ touch from my mind.

Right now, Petr and I are in bed together, and Petr's beard is scratching against my bare back.

"Do you feel that?" Petr's breath puffs against my cool, naked flesh. He takes his index finger and traces a path down my spine.

I shiver. "Yes, I do feel that."

"Can you tell what I'm writing?" Petr traces an outline against the small of my back.

"Is it." I pause, trying to guess what Petr is writing against my skin. "I don't know. I give up. What is it, Petr?"

"I wrote, 'Sergei misses Detroit.' "

"I do _not_." I roll onto my back and glare up at him. "I could care less about Detroit."

Petr shifts beside me, down my side. "Half of you is in Detroit and half of you is here with me in Anaheim, in my bed..." Petr trails off as he begins to kiss his way down my arm.

"You're wrong," I grumble, allowing him to nibble lightly on the thin skin of my wrist.

Petr snuffs against my wrist. "I know more about you than you do, Sergei."

I roll my eyes. "You don't know _anything_ about me."

Petr presses against my side and continues to rain soft kisses against my bare shoulder. "I know you were always overshadowed by Yzerman. I know Anna played with your heart and broke it..." Petr kisses the inside of my elbow. "What do you know about me?"

I pause. "You were Arnott's toy." Petr offers me an injured expression, but I press my index finger over his lips, gently. "But it was Elias. Elias was the one you loved."

Petr beams. "You're a fast learner."

"Maybe just a good guesser."

"Maybe a good kisser, too." Petr presses his lips over mine and his honey colored beard tickles my nostrils.

After I pull away and break the kiss, I sneeze. "Bless me."

Petr giggles. "You're silly. I think that's what I like most about you."

"And you're sweet. I think that's what I like most about _you_." I pat Petr's head and he curls against my side like an obedient puppy.

He hums contentedly. "Mmm. Good night Sergei."

" 'Night, Petr." I drape my arm around his strong shoulders, gathering him against my chest.

I don't miss Detroit. Not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
